


Sinnerman

by carolinka



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Flirting, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Jealous Steve Rogers, M/M, Secret Identity, personal assistant au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:12:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinka/pseuds/carolinka
Summary: Steve goes undercover as a personal assistant to Tony instead of Natalie Rushman. In hindsight, it's easy to say it was doomed to fail from the start.





	1. Chapter 1

Tony Stark has a pen in his mouth when he comes into the room, nipping on the top as he stares into the long line of buildings. Steve knocks on the door, clears his throat to snap him out of it, but all in vain.

“Mr. Stark?” he calls out at last, before security comes in and asks why the hell he stands in front of the door like an imbecile as the smartest man in the worlds chokes on a bloody pink pen.

Stark startles in his chair, all his muscles tightening and his hand moves quickly to grab something under the desk. A handgun probably. Only to be used by very few people. It’s smart but not impenetrable. He stares at him with something akin to shock, lips and teeth pink. He looks a lot more vulnerable than the media paints him to be, with huge doe eyes, plush lips. Like a historical romance cliché (a female one, like damsel in distress. Steve knows better than to assume Stark is harmless.)

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, his face red under scrunity for some reason. Maybe for realising the man’s looks. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The man looks at him blankly for a few seconds, like he can’t understand for the life of him why the fuck there is a man in front of him. He then forcibly makes himself relax and gives him a smile that looks almost painful with the way it stretches his lips and only his lips. It takes all his acting skills not to wince, which means he winces visibly nevertheless and Stark notices it.

Stark shakes his head and dismisses his apology. “Please take a seat, Mr...?”

“Steve Rogers.”

“Yeah, sorry. The list have gotten mixed up already,” he says as he squints at the hologram in front of him. There is glasses on the table, Steve wonders if he merely forgot he has them. Steve assumes the screen is only decipherable to him because all he sees is a blank blue hologram. Stark vaguely points to a seat and Steve perches on the edge, afraid to knock off some valuable, expensive stuff.

“Looks like Ms. Rushman missed her interview this morning,” he mumbles. Steve tries not to fidget as their eyes meet for a second. “This is the first time I’m hiring an assistant myself. Well, other than Pepper, you know her, she’s the CEO. I just knew I had to have her when I first saw her. So there wasn’t any interviewing back then. Can’t say I had that feeling today yet. ”

Steve raises an eyebrow, and smiles his polite smile. That makes Stark huff and roll his eyes self deprecatingly. “I don’t particularly know what I’m supposed to look for,” he explains, his tongue peeking out briefly. He rests his cheek in his palm and looks at him expectantly under his lashes. Steve briefly wonders if he’s being seduced somehow. And if he’s falling for it. 

“The internet? It’s very helpful from what I’ve heard.”

It gets him an amused smile like he hoped for, but it’s as fake as the plants behind him. “Pragmatical. JARVIS?”

He knew of the AI of course, it’s been the talk of the year: Stark was getting pressure from multiple parties (only if them being SHIELD, the other the American government) to build them a similar one. But it still makes him jump when the AI answers.

“You might want to ask where he sees himself in ten years.”

Tony snorts, giving Steve a shrug like he couldn’t care less about where Steve is in ten years. “So?”

Steve feels his face grow hot again, damn him and his inability to lie. So he tells the truth. “Not working as your PA, perhaps.”

That gets him an amused snort, which is far better than insulted. “A solid goal. What else JARVIS?”

“His experience, sir.”

Tony waves his hands around, as Steve realises that the man speaks more with his hands than his mouth. “No, none of that,” he mutters to himself, then looks up to Steve with a mischievous grin. “I’ve had assistants with 20 years under their belt and they couldn’t even get my coffee right. Pepper has never worked with anyone before me. Look how that turned out.”

“I’m not here to overthrow her,” Steve mumbles. Stark giggles, eyes crinkling with real mirth. “You couldn’t if you tried.” His voice is pleasant enough but there is a hint of something dangerous, like a dare. Like it’d be a fun show for him to watch after a long, tiring day at work.

Steve gives him a tentative smile and opens his mouth to say something, definitely something that would get him tossed out of the door but he gets saved by Stark himself when he beats him to talk first.

“Does eight am tomorrow work for you? I seem to have a flight to somewhere,” he trails off, eyes and attention off Steve in an instant and it itches Steve, it reminds him of all those times where no one would look at him twice. He wants to grab that chin and force him to look him in the eyes.

“Sure,” he grits out, reminding himself that this man doesn’t owe him anything. He’s not doing anything rude, in fact, he just seems to be swamped by all the things he needs to get done.

That’s a man he can relate to. And that just makes everything worse.

Their eyes meet through the blue screen for a fleeting second, which feels too long and short at the same time. “JARVIS, do your magic. Make sure Mr. Rogers is all settled and has everything he needs.”

Never let it be said Steve can’t take a hint.

He stands up and buttons up his suit. He sees Stark’s eyes flick to his hands for a second and he has to bite the corner of his mouth to keep the smirk off his face.

“Sir,” he says with a firm nod and walks away, feeling smug about the intense gaze he can feel on his backside. If he sways his hips a little bit more than usual, it’s no ones business. 

“Steve?” he says as he is one step away from the door, and Steve turns back so quickly he almost gets a whiplash. Stark seems to be more approachable, a hint of a smile appearing. “Yes?”

“Pack this suit as well.”

He feels the blood come in waves, and he swallows around the dryness in his throat. “Yeah,” he croaks out and he closes his eyes for a moment to _savour_ this throwback to fifteen year old Steve with a voice rivalling a pigeon. Before he can shove it up his ass, he says to his utter mortification, “I don’t always sound like that.”

Stark laughs openly then, and he thinks, _oh, that’s why everyone falls for him_.

“It’s alright. I don’t always have pink ink on my mouth either.”

Steve gapes at him as he grabs a wet wipe and he rubs on his mouth carelessly, keeping eye contact through it. He cocks his head to the side. “Well?”

“It’s gone,” he says, voice somewhat back to normal. He doesn’t get why he’s feeling this nervous, he’s been around attractive people all his life, people he wanted to sleep with, people he had a crush on. This man’s casual flirting shouldn’t get to him. It will only be a nuisance. 

“Are you telling the truth Mr. Rogers? That’d be some material for paparazzi. I’m your responsibility now,” he drawls, teeth flashing without a trace of pink.

“It’s almost like it was never there.”

“Our little secret,” he chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows. Then his eyes diverts back to his holograms when his eyes catch something there. He looks back at him for a second, “I’ll let it go for today but from now on, you’ll have to tell me if I have something on my mouth.” He says this reflexively. Flirting by default. He could be anyone and he’d say the same thing.

It bothers him more than it should.

Steve wants his attention. He straightens up, and clears his throat, making Stark look at him. “Well, if I have to take care of your reputation from now on, I’ll have to warn you about the dust on those plants.”

A blinding smile takes over the older man’s face and Steve doesn’t need to see his own face to know that he’s looking at the man like the sun shines out of his ass. He should be more horrified of his own reactions, his neediness but it’s hard to remember that when Tony Stark is smiling at him gently. “Thank God I’ve got you now.”

“Thought you were an atheist,” he shots back and for some reason, his smile dims a bit and Steve feels like he’s been slapped out of his buzz.

“Don’t believe everything you heard,” he says finally, after a few seconds of absolute awkward silence.

He bites his tongue to keep the apologies at bay, and just nods before he strides out of his office. Before he gets fired.

There are two women waiting for him 50 meters away with plastic smiles and one box each. He stands there like a tree for a moment for them to explain and waves the boxes in front of their faces. “Uh, what are these?”

A hint of annoyance crosses the brunette’s face but she smothers it with a smile. “Your tablet and Starkphone. You have his schedule and all you need to know. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me,” she says, voice so sweet that it tells him she’d throttle him if he dares to call her. “I’m Lydia. It’s on the phone.”

“All right,” he says dubiously, “so where am I supposed…”

The woman (a girl really, when he looks closer) cuts him off. “On the phone and the tablet. Everything you need,” she repeats at him with the smile still intact.

Steve smiles back at her, the one where he turns his lips into a line and leans his right cheek to his shoulder to look creepy. “You’ve been very helpful, thank you, Lydia.”

Lydia’s smile grows bigger and faker. “Anytime, Mr. Rogers.”

He spares a glance to the redhead next to her and walks away from them before he is mocked further.

It takes about twenty minutes in the traffic to arrive at his apartment.

Distracted as he was, he stumbles upon a furry ball as he enters his apartment. He grabs the little devil and cradles him in his arms. “Shit, sorry Lucifer,” he mumbles, kissing the gray tabby on the head. He sighs at the cat hair on the suit, a smile taking over his face when Lucifer starts purring. He whispers nonsense as he peppers kisses all over his face. Lucifer jumps out of his arms when they enter the kitchen and rubs against his legs.

“Daddy might have to leave you for a few days,” he says regretfully. He pours the food and refreshes his cat’s water before he puts some water on the oven to boil. He knows he’s stalling but he wants to go through his routine to calm his nerves. It’s easy to justify what he’s doing, it’s easy to tell himself that it’s his job, and they’re protecting him but in reality he sees it as it is: Deception. Manipulation. Lying. Sugar-coating it, rephrasing it won’t change it’s nature.

He hangs the suit, after cleaning the cat hair with a roll and puts on his workout clothes. It’ll take him some long hours to tame the frustration building inside him today.

He goes through the tablet and phone as he waits for the pasta to get ready. There isn’t a passcode for either of them but they’re locked until he starts pushing some buttons. He hits himself on the cupboards when JARVIS’ voice booms in the middle of his kitchen.

“May I help you, Mr. Rogers?”

“How?” he stammers, and blushes at his dumbness even if there’s no one around to witness it.

“Sir asked me to help you get settled. I was merely waiting for you to pick up your assets.”

“Oh, alright,” he says, blush still high on his face and then something hits him. “Does this mean you’re recording?”

JARVIS sounds offended, if a machine sound that. “Sir is very respectful about personal life.”

This day just gets worse and worse. He shakes his head to clear his mind but it just nauseates him so he just gets on with it. Like he does many thing in life. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very thoughtful of me. I was just surprised.”

“Apology accepted, Mr. Rogers. Sir would’ve liked you to know, this devices do not record, track or connect to any technology around you. Unless you specifically ask me to, in a case of need.”

So it COULD get worse.

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis,” he says after a few deep breaths. “So what am I doing tomorrow?” JARVIS informs his thoroughly and it seems like he isn’t even supposed to do more than just make sure Mr. Stark shows up to places he has to.

He eats the pasta after that. He doesn’t let himself put even salt in it.

He eats it just like he deserves. Plain, disgusting, and tasteless.

Around seven pm, after a four hour workout, he flops on his old couch and cradles his head in his hands. he sighs, staring at the phone on the coffee table. As he types the words, he feels everything he was proud about himself get destroyed. By himself, nonetheless _._

 

_Got the job. Starting at 8 tomorrow._

_Rogers_

_Get some rest Captain. You’ll need it._

_F._


	2. Chapter 2

Steve is up at 5 am sharp, a habit he can’t seem to break even though he doesn’t actually have a schedule anymore. It helps him have a lifeline, something to focus on when everything is overwhelming and confusing. He feeds Lucifer, cleans his litter and then goes through a really quick workout (by his screwed up standards), showers and pretties up for day one of losing his soul.

After making sure the windows are shut, he leaves a note for Sam with instructions and locks the door behind him with a knot in his stomach.

The driver is already waiting for him with a sleek car that clearly doesn’t belong in his neighbourhood when he comes down. It takes him a moment to realise that the driver is not Happy Hogan but an elderly lady with completely white hair. She gives him a small nod, not offering more than her name, Rosa.

Happy is hardly a mystery to the public, at least as Tony Stark’s bodyguard/driver. Obviously, he knows more than that, with Happy’s own struggles with his dad and losing his wife to pancreas cancer. Knowing these private stuff about people who hasn’t trusted him with these information, it’s hypocrisy. He always believed in the freedom, people’s rights to hold on to their secrets as long as those secrets weren’t hurting anybody, yet here he is, acting as a man’s assistant to steal and carry information.

He repeats what JARVIS told him when they arrive at the Stark Tower.

_Your main job is to make sure Sir arrives to his appointments. Make sure Sir is showered, has eaten and is not drunk._

Sounds simple enough to Steve.

***

Which is exactly why it isn’t.

JARVIS is quick to inform him that Stark is still in his lab and he muted JARVIS around 3 am that night. And everyone is locked out unless he has a heart attack or something.

“How am I supposed to get him to the plane?” he almost yells as he stares at the man, who is so deep in his work that he hasn’t seen Steve standing there for the last ten minutes, waving at him with increasing amplitudes. He is almost sure the man has known he was here the second he entered the building and just ignoring him. He’s heard it before of course, how Tony Stark is late to everything, how many times he stood up other people, including Pepper Potts, who he seems to care for.

But boy, it’s different to experience something first hand.

He bangs on the window, a vein starting to throb on his forehead. It still escapes him sometimes, how strong he is and one moment he is banging the glass and the then there are alarms ringing.

Stark guns up so quickly that even his enhanced senses miss it. He blinks and stares at the man pointing at him with the repulsor, breathing hard with a look that can be only described as insane. Then he gathers himself, striding towards him angrily and slams his free palm to glass and it opens up.

“You must’ve hit that glass real hard to activate the alarms,” Stark says the moment Steve moves. Suspicion rolls off from him in waves and despite the fact that it is absolutely deserved and smart to suspect him, Steve is offended.

“I work out,” he rolls his eyes and hates himself a little bir more as the man relaxes. He gives him a lopsided smile, “That I can see.” He then looks behind and waves him in. “Sorry for the mess.”

“We have a plane to catch in half an hour.”

“Why?” he asks baffled, like he wasn’t one to tell him about this travel yesterday. Steve starts to frown and glares at the man to make sure he isn’t fucking with him. “Because we are going to Vienna.”

“Do we really have to? Did you check in with Pepper about how urgent it is?” he says impatiently, “I’m in the middle of something ground-breaking, if I say so myself.”

“You can break all the ground when we come back, sir,” he says decisively and gently ushers him with gentle hands on his shoulders but he there is a significant resistance and if he used more force, it’d turn into kidnapping.

The man huffs in shock, shoulders going tense under his palms and stays put like a statue. “Are you really going to manhandle me?”

Steve blushes immediately and takes his hands off him like they burned. “My main priority is to take you to places you have to go. I am allowed to use any means necessary, without causing you any harm.”

“Let me guess, you are to feed me, make sure I’m sober and what else? Maybe making sure I’m not lying in a puddle of vomit?” he says casually, smiling pleasantly at him.

“I’m just doing my job. Mr. Jarvis was very clear on that,” he says, fighting off a smile after Stark shakes his head like he can’t believe any of this is happening. It’s strangely adorable.

“JARVIS?” he growls with his hands on his hips, “Did you really say that buddy?” And that’s when Steve realises this isn’t funny as he thought it was a minute ago.

“Mr. Rogers is correct. That is the job description, Sir. I was specifically instructed by Miss Potts. Perhaps you’d like to discuss it with her?” JARVIS says, sounding smug and amused.

Starks grits his teeth, getting a grip on a screwdriver and jabbing the sharp point to his worktable, and glares daggers at a corner. “JARVIS, you know how I feel when Pepper acts like I’m a fucking infant who can’t bring a spoon to his mouth.”

In the tense silence that follows, Steve wants the floor to swallow him up more than anything. “Understood, Sir,” JARVIS replies, sounding like a reprimanded child. “I shall delete that description.”

“Was that what every applicant saw?”

The silence stretches thin once again, “It was, Sir.”

“Mr. Stark,” he starts heart thudding in his chest like it wants to escape but Stark stops him with a hand. “Just call me Tony, I’m breaking into hives every time I hear Mr. Stark now,” he snaps, but he is still glaring at somewhere, somewhere his AI is seeing.

It does something to his chest, as if Stark- Tony, now- stuck his hand in his ribcage and squeezed his lungs. His delicate, capable hands…

Hands that are waving in front of his face because he zoned out.

“Did I break you?” Tony says, close enough for him to see the green flecks in his bright eyes. There is something about those eyes, Steve thinks, a vault and an open book at the same time. The trick must be to learn how to know which one of them it is, in an exact moment.

And there, he can see Tony is actually a bit worried.

“I’m fine,” he smiles his big fat smile.

**

They go straight to Tony’s private jet after that, and Steve smartly doesn’t mention food or shower. Tony spends the whole ride to the take-off place with a tablet in his hand, furiously tapping on it. His lips are stretched thin with a grimace, and he seems to be getting more furious every second. When they get on the plane, he just disappears to the back and comes back out eight hours later, freshly showered, slick in a tailored suit.

“Mr. Rogers,” he greets him with a small grin, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeve as they step out of the plane. “Did you sleep? We seem to have a busy night ahead of us.”

Steve frowns, and squints at the tablet. “You have a dinner with some associates. Then a meeting in the morning at ten am.”

“Is that right?” Tony asks with his mouth curled to the side. He chuckles and pats Steve on his forearm. “Take the night off, Mr. Rogers. Take a look around the city. Do you enjoy museums?” he asks offhandedly.

“Yeah, actually,” he says, but it turns out like a question.

“Perfect,” Tony throws his hands up, grinning. He gets into the bigger car that are waiting for them, and points to the one behind. “It’ll take you to anywhere you want to go.”

Then he’s gone. He sighs and drags his feet to the car, sitting next to the driver. “Hey,” he smiles politely to the man. “Take me to a place to eat?”

The old man just nods. It’s a silent ride but it’s a pleasant night in a beautiful city after that.

He’s in bed before midnight.

**

The first thing he notices when he comes into Tony’s room is that Tony is sleeping soundly. The second thing is that someone is in the shower, using more water than necessary.  
_Calm the fuck down Rogers_ , he orders himself with his captain voice but he’s still squirming as he waits for the woman to come out of the shower.  
He takes a deep breath that would’ve knocked out a regular human being and just holds onto that breath as he checks if Tony’s clothes are in order.  
The water stops after a few minutes of uncomfortable standing in the corner and he doesn’t dare to breath when he hears slippers on the floor. He expects a leggy blonde with full boobs out of the showers but what he gets is Tony himself with a thick bathrobe that almost covers everything but his lower legs. His eyes turn to the lump on the bed immediately but it stubbornly remains male, no matter how many time he blinks.  
It’s not hard to mix the two men after all, because all he can see is a nest of brown hair. Tony raises an eyebrow and grabs underwear from the bag on the floor. “Are you gonna turn your back because I really don’t want to be sued of sexual harassment for dressing in front of you.”

Steve stammers an incomprehensible apology, turning back and staring at the bed. At the man who is stretching, yawning almost to a point to dislocating his jaw. Their eyes meet and the man’s face stretches into a huge smirk. “Do we have company Tony?” he drawls, craning his neck to look at Tony. Steve wants to block the view with his body but he remains put.

Tony chuckles behind him, “He’s my assistant.”

“Riiiiight,” the man says like they are sharing a joke. “Shame, he’s really a magnificent specimen.”

“Behave,” Tony genuinely giggles as he walks past Steve to grab his phone, buttoning up his shirt. “Even I’ve been behaving himself, I didn’t even make a scene when he dragged me out of my lab.”

“Sir has been exceptionally helpful,” he says sarcastically before he can control himself when they both look at him expectantly. Tony’s brows furrow for a second in confusion and then shrugs. He plants a quick kiss on man’s lips, “Give me a call if you’re in New York.”

“Will do,” the man says with a lazy, satisfied smile, eyes hooded with suggestion. The man hops off from the bed when Tony steps back and there is a second where Steve compares the guy’s penis to himself.

He wins.

Tony motions Steve to follow him and Steve hastily grabs the rest of Tony’s clothes, helping him into them as they basically run to the car.

“How was your night, Mr. Rogers?”

“Are you really going to keep calling me Mr. Rogers?” he blurts out.

“Oh,” Tony says surprised, “I thought you’d prefer that. Well, Steve it is.”

Steve beams at him and nods. “It was nice. Had a dinner and strolled around the city.”

“I’ll probably be in the meeting for few hours,” he tells Steve. “Boring as hell. Go around and see those museums you like, or whatever you’d like to do. You don’t need to suffer alongside me.”

“Oh, okay,” he mumbles, a bit disappointed for some reason. He suppose he should show more enthusiasm for free time but for some reason he feels like this is Tony’s way of getting rid of him. “This must be the least demanding job I ever had.”

“Please tell that to Pepper, she says working for me was her hell in earth,” Tony grins, like it is funny her PA was claiming him to be a horrible boss. Steve really doesn’t get this century sometimes, he doesn’t get someone who says something like this would become the CEO. Especially after yesterday morning. “And not to step on your dreams, but you’re probably going to miss these days in a few weeks.” He hops into the driver seat and salutes Steve before he pedals the gas and disappears from his sight.

“Then I guess I’ll enjoy it while it lasts,” he murmurs to himself. “Mr. Jarvis?” he asks after he puts on the earphones.

“Taxi or metro?”

“You know what, I think I’ll just walk. Lead the way, Sir.”

**

_Back in NY._

_Rogers_

 

_Well?_

_F._

 

_He doesn’t really talk a lot to me._

_Rogers._

_Did you spook him somehow? He normally hardly shuts up._

_F._

_He talks all right, he just doesn’t say anything tangible. Unless you want to learn about his one night stands._

_Rogers._

_Hell no. You know what to do Captain. We need him on our side._

_F._

_I do. Good night, Sir._

_Rogers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think :)
> 
> Also not relevant but none of my friends are invested in marvel as much as i am soooo how annoying it is that people acted weirded out when Rhodey suggested killing baby Thanos? i agree %100 to be honest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brother saw some of this chapter as I was writing the smut part and the only reason I’m still alive is that I’m holding onto the hope that he didn’t see any words.

In the next few months Tony evades him by doing everything by the books and giving him free time after they spend the absolute minimum time together. He cannot reach Tony before he clears it out with JARVIS, before making sure he really needs Tony physically to do something and more than ninety per cent of the time the deal is done through JARVIS. His life is just sitting in one of Tony’s guest rooms, which is apparently assigned to him to chill out. He’s cleared to use the gym and the kitchen and while he was a bit shy to take up on the offer, after two weeks of Tony ghosting him, he just eats everything out of spite and has quick workouts in the gym, without ruining the any punching bags, just to stay on the safe side. Showing up at Stark Industries is the most exciting thing that happens to him in a month. Which happens only twice. Once because he and Tony went to a meeting with the directors and once because Miss Potts wanted to talk about Tony. He gives her nothing, just what he keeps giving Fury. He doesn’t really het why Fury doesn’t get him off the assignment. Only thing he can come up with is he just wants to keep an eye on Tony, not get leverage.

Miss Potts visits Tony a few times to question him subtly but Tony does what he does to him, acts so sweet and easy going that there is absolutely nothing she can call him out on. When her interrogation fails she drags Steve to a nearby café to question him about Tony. She tells Steve to contact her immediately if she sees anything weird about Tony and he knows she means well, she’s one of his best friends but also there is the fact that Fury also thinks he is doing a favour to Tony.

His life is definitely going to hell because of people who wants information on Tony. He feels like a puppet with countless ropes attached to him and he can’t even get mad because he brought this on himself. He contemplates resigning or coming clean to Tony but resigning means he will never see of Tony again, getting assigned to much less pleasant case. But coming clean means Tony will have to face that someone near him betrayed him again, even if they’re not close, at all.

Tony drinks a lot, but Steve is yet to see him drunk. The amount of whiskey bottles he’s recycling is baffling to him. _High functioning alcoholism,_ his mind offers. He has someone over a few times but they’re all gone in the morning, satisfied and in a good mood. There is no crying, shouting. There are kisses on the cheeks, see you later’s, call me if you stop by’s.

Fury is sure Tony figured it out what they’re up to and just humouring them at this point but Steve can’t understand how it’s possible. His identity is supposed to be secret, even if Tony did figure it all out, he could’ve just fired him.

***

Steve doesn’t sleep well. He never has, not when he was just a kid from Brooklyn, sickness never far away, always breathing down his neck. Not when he was a super soldier in WW2, not after he lost Bucky. Not when he woke up almost 70 years later, all alone in a world that didn’t try to understand him. Not when he’s betraying trust of a good man.

He still have dreams of dark alleys, bigger guys punching him in the gut and cackling like villains in cartoons. They’re very rare nowadays but they still come visit their old friend every once in a while, to spice things up. Ice is more frequent, but more often than that, he keeps losing Bucky, over and over, especially when Sam and Bucky are staying in the guest room, after a pleasant evening together.

The most often one these days always start differently, but they end the same way, leaving him panting, arms around his knees. Lucifer senses his distress, lays against him, a small warmth to save him from the cold in the centre of his soul.

 

_Tony is wearing one of his three piece suits, custom made to accentuate his curves. His hips sway sensually, but he’s not aware of it and it just makes it even more distracting because he can look without being caught._

_Or he thinks he can get away with it. But the tent in front of his trousers is obvious, if one’s gaze travels there. He doesn’t try to hide it, he wants Tony to see what he does to him. Tony watches him with a carefully poised expression on his face as he shrugs off the jacket casually, then opens up the buttons of his vest and gets rid of that too. His breath catches as his eyes trail downwards from his lips, to his neck, to the exposed skin of his chest. The top of arc reactor is visible, teasing him to touch it, trace his fingers around it. He knows he has a dazed look on his face but he couldn’t care less, not when Tony’s looking like this, letting him look._

_“What do you want Steve?” he asks like he is asking about his order at a restaurant, still eerily calm and it sends a chill down his spine. He feels his cock ooze out precum at the sound of his deep voice and he can smell his arousal in the air, wishing Tony could too._

_He is brave here, and somehow knows that whatever he says, it will be okay. It’ll turn out just like how he wants to. “Whatever **you**  want ,” he pants, his hands fisted next to his hips to keep himself from touching. Himself or Tony, that he doesn’t know. _

_It’s not even a confession, it’s a fact. And Tony sees it exactly how it is._

_There is a small fond smile on his face at that, and he crooks his finger to beckon him closer. Steve almost trips on hair in his haste to get to him quicker and Tony chuckles, but it’s not mocking, it’s pleased._

_“Turn around,” he orders when Steve’s close enough to smell his aftershave and Steve obliges without asking why. He feels Tony’s arms move around behind him, elbow grazing his flank for a second, making him sway closer. He knows what’s coming, so he brings his wrists together at his back. “Good boy,” Tony says softly, breath fanning the small hairs at the back of his neck and Steve feels himself get warm at the praise. Tony ties a knot around his wrist quickly, secure but not tight because they both know Steve can get out of it with barely an effort. It’s just a statement._

_Tony turns him around, eyes intent and focused on his face. Steve feels hot under that attention and he already misses it, yearns for it. He doesn’t know how he’d handle it if Tony looked at someone else like this and the thought feels like a vice around his throat. He tries to focus on Tony instead, whose face looks a bit flushed now and he is breathing a bit harshly, betraying his cool facade. Tony traces his lips with the tip of his index finger, and his lips open up automatically to show his wet tongue, trying to lure him in, throwing his head back when two long fingers touch the top of his tongue. Steve suckles on them enthusiastically, pretending it’s his cock, eyes rolling back to his skull as he feels the callouses._

_“Jesus Steve,” Tony groans out, and takes his fingers back, eliciting a protesting whimper. He shushes, and Steve’s eyes snap open when he hears zipper going down. He can hardly breath with half of his capacity now, only small hitching gasps._

_Tony takes out his cock from the slit of his boxers and oh, there’s no hiding how aroused Tony is now, his thick cock almost purple with all the blood rushed there, all because of Steve. Steve feels his own straining cock, which he has been ignoring since the second he laid eyes on Tony, twitch at the sight._

_“Let me,” he basically begs, he can’t take his gaze off Tony’s hand tugging at his cock lazily, his piercing eyes on Steve. He wonders if his gaze burns Tony as his does._

_“Don’t I have a meeting to attend to?” Tony muses and Steve would think he wasn’t interested in this at all if there wasn’t an evidence right before his eyes._

_“I’ll make it quick,” Steve promises eagerly. Tony’s breath hitches when he kneels before him, looking up at him under his lashes. He opens his mouth invitingly and something about that snaps Tony out of his stupor. He entwines his fingers in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. He grabs the base of his cock with his other hand to guide it between his open lips. He closes his lips around the head as soon as it’s within his reach and he moans when rich, musky taste of him explodes on his taste buds. Tony’s hips thrusts further inside when he hums around his cock. Steve doesn’t let him pull back, impaling himself on that cock and his throat contracts wildly with the suddenness of it, making Tony let out a grunt and grab at his hair with his other head too. He thrusts a few times head thrown back, his neck red and strained with tension, making Steve gag around him. But he stops and tries to pull back because his eyes snap back on Steve, who is slobbering on his cock. He basically follows him as he tries, his weight leaning on Tony’s hips, with the way he’s trying to keep his cock in his throat. Tony stares down at him with a mix of desire and confusion but he gets on with his agenda, crowding him and once again he’s standing straight on his knees, hands behind his back._

_“I’m going to fuck your throat until I come unless you stop me now,” he says, straight to the point and Steve nods as much as he can. Tony keeps staring at him, and releases a shaky breath. “Nudge me with your knee if it becomes too much,” he says, eyes on Steve’s to make sure he understands and he nods again, a bit impatient now and Tony laughs, but then, suddenly all mirth is gone and he slams hard on his face. Steve feels heady with Tony’s unique smell trapped in his nose when Tony’s pelvis presses down on his face harshly. His grip on his hair turns cruel, keeping his head still as he begins fucking his throat mercilessly. Steve can go more than ten minutes without breathing but still, Tony’s not letting him rest and he can feel his lungs start protest in earnest. His pubic hair scratch his bare face and everyone’s going to see the burn on his face, they’ll now Steve took him to the root, he let him fuck his throat until he came and they’ll know Tony is **his his his…**_

_He comes with a snap, on the brink of passing out with the combination of asphyxiation and orgasm, his body thrashing, hips shuttering in abandon._

_He barely realizes when Tony rams harder than before, shooting his release down his throat and he tries to swallow all, but some of it escapes with the thick saliva coating his mouth._

_He sucks on his dick as it softens slowly in his mouth and releases with a pop. He feels delirious, a stupid satisfied grin on his face and opens his eyes to see how’s Tony affected._

_He wheezes when he sees Tony standing there with a hand over his chest, a metal bar sticking out of his hand, which seems to have passed through his whole torso. He stares disbelievingly, oddly serene and undisturbed, because he was just fucking him seconds ago, who could’ve been so quick and silent that he didn’t notice?_

_Behind Tony, there is a mirror and Steve’s standing there. He is sobbing, sobbing, sobbing and he realises it’s him but he can’t be he’d never hurt Tony like that why would he---_

“Steve, wake up buddy,” someone urges him, prodding him with an actual stick. He gets off the bed so quickly his vision blurs and he slowly becomes aware of his ragged breathing. He sounds just like he did when he was a sickly, asthmatic kid. He feels Sam’s and Bucky’s gaze on him, worried and scared but he just shakes his head and runs to the bathroom to collect his composure. He sits on the cold floor, rocking back and forth. There is a way out from this nightmares, an honourable one. Hard choice, but the one a good man would choose.

There is a knock on the floor, metal on wood. He can see Bucky on the other side of the door, shoulders hunched with concern and Steve doesn’t think he can handle seeing his friends anguished over him.

He flushes the toilet, and clears his throat. “Coming Buck.” His voice sounds hoarse, weak and Steve realises he’s been crying.

“Christ,” he mumbles, rubbing his face with more force than necessary. He glares at himself in the mirror, willing it to crumble. He doesn’t want to see himself in the mirror, ever again.

He grimaces when he meets them in the kitchen, because they’re sitting so straight it hurts to look at. Sam’s brows are drawn tight and Bucky just looks uncomfortable, expressing emotions still doesn’t come to him smoothly.

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, spill.”

“You should quit,” Sam says before he closes his mouth. It would sound patronizing coming from anyone else. Instead it’s almost pitying, which is far worse. Steve arches his eyebrows, “What am I supposed to say to Tony?”

Bucky watches him attentively, seeing more than Steve wants him to. “I don’t know the guy but I’m sure he’ll take it better hearing from you than finding out another way.”

It’s a sign he’s fucking up so badly that Bucky feels like he has to talk about _emotions._

He sighs deeply, “I know that,” he drops himself on the chair pathetically and the chair groans under his weight. “He’d probably just fire me and be done with it. he wouldn’t even get angry,” he laughs bitterly.

He doesn’t need to look to know they’re sharing glances.

“And I gather you want him to get angry?” Bucky asks him carefully, confused and Sam rolls his eyes, elbowing him in the ribs. Steve huffs and steals Bucky’s plate to give himself something to focus on.

Bucky doesn’t even threaten him. He really is deep in shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos are all appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

When they were younger, Bucky would always complain that Steve was a fucking wall. He wasn’t complimenting. It’s ironic, considering he usually just got shoved against walls.  
When Steve’s mind is set on something, nothing short of a miracle will change his mind. Maybe not even than.  
No matter what Bucky says, he’s not proud of that. It has made everything a lot harder in his life but he wouldn’t be him if he wasn’t stubborn as a goat. He wouldn’t be real.

Yeah. Hypocrisy.

So his most recent mission is to talk to Tony Stark, so he can resign. If only it was that simple.  
“I’m his personal assistant JARVIS, don’t you think it’s a bit weird that I’m not allowed to talk to him?”  
“Sir only allows disturbances if it’s a matter of life and death.”  
“You know what? I’m sick of this,” he growls and uses the trick from the first day: punching the glass. After the first punch, alarms goes off.

Steve expects it to shatter, or at least crack but it only trembles against his white knuckles. He’s breathing hard with frustration, glaring straight at Tony who casually strides over, eyebrows arched amusedly. The glass doors open with a hiss, “Are we going to go through this every time I don’t indulge you?”

“No, because I’m resigning,” Steve deadpans and the smirk drops off Tony’s face. The earlier playfulness is long gone, for the first time in their acquiescence, he’s taking Steve seriously.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and Steve purposefully doesn’t look at his biceps but it’s harder to do when Tony’s finger taps against said muscles. “Why?” Tony asks, his voice calm and level. Steve suddenly feels small under his scrutinizing gaze, sheepish about his outburst but he keeps his chin high. “Because I didn’t come here to sit back and collect my paycheck. If you don’t need a personal assistant, I don’t want to be here. You can just donate my salary and the world would be a better place for it.”

Tony hums thoughtfully. After a few moments, he asks, “Do you think I need a personal assistant?”

Steve laughs out loud and jerks his head to the side. “I’ve brought these files two weeks ago. Did you even look at them?”

“No, I didn’t. You wanna know why?” he shots back easily, voice so even that Steve should’ve seen he was walking on a very fine line.

“Surprise me.”

“Because there are about three thousand science projects waiting for me to look over, from all over the world, from brilliant kids who is waiting for me to reply to them and thousands of invites, some of them I can’t ignore and even more people who wants to talk to me and I can’t even begin to understand how am I going to cope with all that,” he yells suddenly, making Steve jump out of his skin at his outburst. Steve stares at him in shock and his heart twist in sympathy. He knows about having that pressure on his shoulders, wanting to hide in his old apartment, wanting to go back to his small self so he can hide and Fury can’t send him to places.

“Okay,” Steve nods, “do you realise this is something I can help, right? I am here to deal with this stuff,” he says softly, taking a step closer to Tony. When Tony doesn’t move away, he puts his arms on Tony’s upper arms and no, no, this has nothing to do with wanting to caress him all over.

“Let’s start with the invites,” he urges and Tony looks at him unsurely, like a kid who isn’t used to being treated nicely. It breaks Steve’s heart a bit, to see how lonely Tony is behind all that charisma and genius. His hands trails down to Tony’s elbows. After a few seconds of enjoying the hard muscles and warmth in his palms, he lets go because there is no way of making it seem casual if he starts stroking him further.

“You staying?” he mumbles, catching Steve’s eyes only for a moment before he takes a step back. He nudges the floor with the toe of his shoe, looking like a five year old.

Steve chuckles softly, “Only if you want me to.” He knows he is playing dirty but this might his only chance of hearing this out of Tony’s mouth. A soldier knows how to make the best of moments.

Tony puckers his lips petulantly and shrugs. “Yeah, whatever.”

Steve smothers a smile. “Sorry, what?” he asks just to be a dick.

Tony narrows his eyes at him but his lips is twitching in the corners. “I want you to stay and help me keep my sanity, Rogers. Is it enough?”

He holds his hands up. “You only had to say yes.”

“Why people in my life keep sassing me JARVIS?” Tony says indignantly but his smirk is a instant giveaway.

“You have some questionable life choices, Sir,” JARVIS chirps. “May I remind you that you told Miss Potts you would be attending Mr. Foster’s son’s gallery opening.”

Tony makes a face but nods. “Yeah I know,” he grumbles. He sees Steve’s confused look and explains with an exasperated voice. “Foster’s kid has a crush on me and wants me to see his paintings.”

“That’s actually pretty cute,” he admits with a shrug. A lot of kids love Iron Man.

Tony groans, running his fingers through his hair. “He’s thirty five, Steve. And I have to go because we have a huge deal we are about to close and apparently we can’t afford to hurt mini-Foster’s heart.”

“Yeah, not that cute,” Steve admits with a wince.  

Tony laughs quietly, then stops abruptly. “Hey, are you free tonight?”

The question throws him off his track, mind going blank for a second to understand where Tony’s going with this but before he can tell Tony he is absolutely free to keep him company tonight, Tony reads into it. very inaccurately.

“Not that I’m saying you have to come, I know you must have a life besides this boring, useless job. I just hate going to places like this because I understand absolutely nothing and I’ll have to play nice with everybody and you mentioned you like museums so I thought maybe that place might not suck for you…” he babbles and Steve feels like this might go on longer than Steve can handle because _adorable_.

“Tony,” he cuts off his monologue with a firm voice and waits until he looks at him. He smiles reassuringly, “I’ll come.”

Tony’s eyes shift around uneasily, like he’s expecting Steve to declare he was fucking with him. “Are you sure? I’m not going to fire you if…”

“I’m sure. I’ll just need to get back to my apartment to feed my cat and clean up.”

Tony perks up, “So you’ve got a cat?” he asks excited. He looks up at him with huge bright eyes, spinning in his chair.  
“Yeah, Lucifer.”  
Tony laughs loudly, head thrown back to show the base of his throat. “A little devil, is he?”  
“No, he’s pretty well behaved actually,” he says fondly, like a proud parent. “Used to hang out around my friend’s apartment and steal his food, so Sam called him Lucifer.”  
“You stole a man’s cat?” Tony exclaims.  
“Well, no!” Steve laughs at Tony’s horror. “I can’t help it if he liked me better. He kept following me back to my home. I even let Sam see him every once in a while.”  
“Oh, shared custody?” Tony asks with a shit eating grin, somehow reminding him of Sam on that moment.  
“Nah, he’s just the babysitter. He only tolerates Sam because he brings wet food with him.”

Tony laughs again, loud and free. Steve thinks, I want to get used to this.

***

When he stops by at the house to get ready, Sam and Bucky are still lounging in his apartment. Sam’s sleeping with his head on Bucky’s lap, face pressed against Bucky’s stomach and Bucky’s watching some rom-com he’s probably seen twenty times before. It’s either rom-com or animation with this one, something that amuses and annoys him at the same time because boy he’s bored of them.

“Why are you two still here?” he asks, for the thousandth time probably. They seem to not leave once they get there, even though they have a larger apartment just five minutes away. The only reason they haven’t moved in with Steve is because Steve refuses to cook for them and do their laundry and of course, they want to be able to have sex without having to be quiet. Not that they do it quietly when they go at it in his house. Steve shudders at the memory of that one time Bucky asked him for lube.

Bucky stretches lazily and pointedly puts his feet up on the coffee table, careful not to disturb Sam as he does so. At least he’s not wearing that muddy boots anymore, Steve repeats to himself. This is a battle he hasn’t won once and he doesn’t want to use his energy to argue about something stupid.

“You have more food,” Bucky answers. I’d be charming, with Bucky having his best smile on if Steve wasn’t freaking out about his not date with Tony. And about not telling him the truth and digging his own grave. It’s deeper than six feet now, something between ten and thirteen, if he’s being optimistic.

Bucky’s smile slips off when he sees Steve is about to lose it. The jerky nod, tossing the keys hard enough to dent the cupboard. All the signs before he has a giant meltdown. “How did it go?” he asks softly. Steve remembers telling them this is his last day before he left this morning. Remembers something like “I’m quitting this job even if Fury comes personally and turns me into kebab.”

“Ugh,” he rubs the back of his neck nervously, not meeting his eyes. “I’m officially allowed to enter his workshop whenever I want as long as I warn him first and we’re going to a gallery tonight.” His voice is suspiciously high, words tumbling out, barely making any sense. He shuffles awkwardly and tries to fill in the silence when Bucky stays frozen. “Not a date obviously, he just asked me to come because he gets bored at those things and wants me to keep him entertained. Or just less irritated.”

Bucky stares at him. A minute passes by. And then another. Then another. Steve stands there like a child sent to corner for being naughty. “Say something,” he says, laughing nervously.

Bucky shakes his head, mouth curling like he is disgusted. It’s like a punch to the gut because Bucky never looks at him like that, like he’s a failure. He has his back and he always takes his side, because it’s them. “That’s not how it was supposed to go. Do you want to keep lying to the guy, Steve? Just imagine you were him! You’re just making everything harder on yourself. ”

Steve snarls, the words hitting so close to home, cutting through the bone. It’s what he keeps seeing, what he keeps reminding himself but he doesn’t want to hear it anymore, so he lashes out. “I don’t need to take lessons about empathy from you,” he drawls, stressing the last part. He knows he is not being fair, because Bucky has adjusted to this century and its’ people far better than Steve did even if he doesn’t know how to interact with them all the time. He regrets it the second it’s out of his mouth but Bucky is already on his feet, startling Sam awake in the process who looks around confusedly before his eyes fall on two supersoldiers facing each other with their fists ready by their sides. His eyes sharpens instantly and throws himself between them, like the self sacrificing idiot that he is. Bucky growls, the sound coming deep from his throat and it sends an unpleasant chill up his spine. He is watching Steve with icy eyes through his long hair, and Steve is reminded why he hates this new hairstyle. He knows it’s Bucky’s way of hiding when everything gets too much but it still reminds him of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky stands there like a feral wolf who’s ready to destroy anyone and anything that dares to be on his way but Sam doesn’t seem to care and puts a reassuring hand on his back, pressing their fronts together. Bucky doesn’t relax but he doesn’t push Sam away either.

“Can I not trust you two to behave for a minute?” he sighs, long suffering. He cups Bucky’s jaw with his other hand and rests his forehead against his. He hears Bucky release a breath, hiding his face in the crook of his neck for a second, inhaling deeply and Steve is suddenly furious because they get to have this, this intimacy and trust when all he gets is playing spy to a man who he honestly admires. The only person he felt attraction towards since opening his eyes. He feels his face and neck get hot but he keeps his stance and doesn’t open his mouth because whatever comes out, it’s not going to be pretty.

“What’s the matter?” Sam asks quietly.

“That bitch over there,” he spews out like he’s spitting rotten flesh from his mouth, “thinks he doesn’t need to take empathy lessons from me but I think he fucking does because he decided to keep spying on a man he claims he likes.”

Sam freezes for a second and mutters “Jesus Steve.” Steve doesn’t know if he means his decision to keep playing this spy thing or what he said to Bucky.

It’s probably both.

“You know what,” Steve grits out, “I’ve already told myself everything you might have thought about this, so I’d rather not have you two bitching at me for being the scum on earth.”

Sam sighs. “We just want to help you,” he says patiently and it’s exactly the thing he shouldn’t say. Steve feels his vision go black and suddenly he is bellowing, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE! BOTH OF YOU, GET OUT! GET OUT!”

Bucky is out of the door before he can finish screaming and Sam just stares at him dumbfounded before he shakes his head unbelievingly, following his boyfriend out. Steve almost cackles madly when he sees they both left their phones and wallets. They’ll probably hide somewhere until he leaves the house before they go get it. Steve hopes Bucky will calm down until then, because he really doesn’t like cleaning the house after a Bucky shaped tornado.

Steve throws himself on the couch, heaving and curling up into a small ball. He keeps it together for another ten seconds. Then he’s sobbing, the ugly one that wreaks havoc on his body. He feels Lucifer come up behind him, rubbing possessively against this ass before he stretches and starts sniffing his nape. Even at his state, he can’t help but giggle as he starts licking his hair.

He allows himself another half an hour to pity himself and play with Lucifer before he throws his shoulders back to tackle the problems as they come. So he goes to shower to clean cat saliva from his hair. If he pays extra attention to look nice, there’s no one to know but Lucifer and he never judges. Unlike _some people_ he knows.

His phone, the one Stark Industries gave him chimes and he smiles when he sees it’s a text message from Tony. His face heats when he reads the message and his teeth starts worrying his bottom lips.

_ Be there in ten. Hope you didn’t eat because I’m about to feed you. _

_I’m always hungry._

_ Well, you gotta give those muscles what they want. I’m here to help you with the cause. All your meals on me. _

Steve giggles and smiles dopily at his phone. His eyes find Lucifer, who is sitting on his bed with his paws tucked under him, watching him intently. “Don’t look at me like that young man,” he jokingly chides. “I remember those days when you’d run after the girls.”

_Surprised you noticed._

_ Oh I notice a lot Rogers. I just play dumb to get my way _ _._

Steve’s smile falters, wondering if this is Tony’s way of warning him that he knows. But it doesn’t add up with how Tony treated him this afternoon.

He will tell him. He will.  
He gets a few sideway glances as he gets on Tony’s shiny car but he’s too giddy to care. People probably think he’s getting picked up by his sugar daddy, which doesn’t bother him as much as it should. The smell of spices he can’t identify fills his nose and his stomach grumbles in instant. Tony grins at him, easing the pain of fighting with Bucky and being wrong like an anaesthetic. He hopes it has a long half-life span because he doesn’t know how often he’ll get Tony like this, happy and all to himself.

“What’s this?” he asks curiously as Tony hands him a packet containing three wraps. He opens the coating and a few pieces of meat fall on his leg. He shrieks, and there’s nothing dignified about it. Tony’s fingers grab the pieces quickly and he grins as he pops them into his mouth. “Three seconds rule,” he says smugly and he holds up his wrap. “And this is tantuni. Eat it, it’s pretty good. My favourite midnight food actually. Gets me going like nothing else. And even better, there is some vegetables in it, so I can say I’ve eaten my greens when Pep asks.”

Steve smiles at him as he takes a bite, chest warming with the fact that Tony’s offering these small facts about himself. He wolfs down the first wrap without noticing the taste much because he’s actually starving, only distinctly aware that this could be his new obsession if his mind decides to link tantuni and Tony and warmth. He slows down as he eats the second one, noticing Tony’s only halfway through his first one. Tony’s watching him with open curiosity and Steve feels himself blush under his gaze. He tries to keep the eye contact but Tony seems to be just watching him, not trying to make a wordless conversation so he just diverts his attention back to his food and lets Tony to look his fill.

“You want something to drink?” Tony asks as he opens a beer for himself from the mini fridge. Steve tilts sideways to peer inside and points to the bottom shelve for coke. Tony throws it casually, off the mark by half a meter but Steve’s free hands shots up to catch it effortlessly. Tony looks surprised but schools his expression into something neutral after a second. Steve expects him to make a joke about it but he remains silent. Steve feels conscious about the noise he’s making as he chews because Tony’s done with his food. He tries to slow down but the taste just gets better with every bite.

“You don’t drink?” Tony asks casually when Steve swallows the last bite, catching him off the guard. It’s almost like he waited until there was no chance of Steve choking on a bite, which is kind of thoughtful. Steve looks at him, _oh God_ , Tony’s lips are around the circle on the top, tongue peeking out to probe there distractedly.

_no, not going there, not here, he can see if you get hard don’t think about him rimming you never gonna happen behave rogers_

“Doesn’t do much for me,” he admits, “I have pretty high tolerance.”

Tony’s eyes gleams as he takes a long swallow and Steve’s eyes fixate Tony’s fingers, because his mind decided he is a thirteen year old and Tony awfully looks like he’s holding a cock.

“I take that as a challenge,” Tony murmurs. He’s flirting, Steve realises hazily. It’s all smooth and deep, lulling Steve into thinking he should just start undressing to start sucking Tony’s cock. The thought makes him focus on Tony’s hand harder and his breath hitches when Tony purposefully starts rubbing the bottle up and down. To an outsider, it might seem like Tony’s lost in thought but Steve knows for sure that the casualness is just an act when Tony’s thumb brushes over the top. His hips jerk without his permission as if Tony’s stroking his cock, not the fucking beer bottle.

He bites down on his lips hard to keep the embarrassing noises in and in a spur of moment he decides that he needs to get his mouth on that goddamn bottle and snatches it out of Tony’s hand. Tony looks baffled and embarrassed for a moment before Steve brings it up to his lips, keeping his eyes on Tony’s as he sticks out his tongue to catch a drop. He sees Tony swallow and his irises disappear as he watches Steve throw back his head to finish rest of the beer in one gulp.

They don’t talk for the rest of the trip but Steve suspects it’s because Tony’s trying to hide a boner, just like him.

This is going to blow up in his face so badly but Steve has never been good at denying himself what he desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Attempted sexual assault (not between Tony and Steve)

“How do you always manage to get the hottest ones?”

Tony turns around, a delighted smile on his face. A genuine one, reaching to his eyes and crinkling his eyes in the corner. He steps into her open arms without hesitation, body going lax as she leans her cheek on his shoulder. She hardly comes up to his chin and her small arms wrap around Tony’s waist securely as they dangle together for a few moments. Tony grabs her face gently and give her a long, affectionate kiss on the forehead.

He steps back and throws an arm around her small shoulders to face to Steve. “Look at him. What would he do with an old man like me?” Tony jokes, winking at Steve but it makes Steve uneasy because there is bitterness under that, a genuine concern about his age. He decides he doesn’t like his self deprecating jokes because they seem to be holding more truth than he first realised.

The woman snorts, surprisingly inelegant and Tony grins widely at her. Steve kind of likes her. Janet Van Dyne, his mind supplies. A very old friend of Tony’s. They briefly dated when he was in his early twenties, if he’s remembering correctly.

“Don’t sell yourself so short, I’d tap your ass if I wasn’t taken,” she says cheerily, slapping Tony’s bottom in front of everyone.

Okay. Steve doesn’t like her.

But Tony does. So he buries the jealousy and tries to give her a smile. It must look like someone’s trying to remove his nails because her brows shoot upwards, spearing a glance at Tony in surprise but Tony’s busy playing with the earrings she’s wearing.

Steve is really, really not cut for being a spy.

“Janet Van Dyne,” she says, holding out a small hand adorned with different rings. He takes it, careful not to crush her. It basically disappears in his own and Steve stares at their hands. He startles out of it with the sound of their laughter. His eyes turn back to them, ashamed but they don’t seem to be making fun of him so he relaxes. He realises he’s still holding her hand and releases her. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. She shrugs, “I know I’m cute.”

“Cute but deadly,” Tony interjects. She hums her approval and plants a kiss on his cheek, palms spread over his chest and eyes on Steve’s. Steve wonders if she’s trying to make him jealous or if she wants to see his reaction.

Whatever she’s trying to do, she succeeds.

“God I missed you Jan,” Tony murmurs into her short hair, inhaling deeply. Steve averts his eyes, feeling like he’s witnessing an intimate moment but he still keeps watching them fondle each other in front of everyone, including the paparazzi.

“Sir, they are taking photos,” he warns quietly, using his body as a shield from the cameras.

“Let them. I think it’s been years since we were on their radars,” Tony muses.

Jan laughs but takes a step back, her eyes scanning the large, brightly lit room. “As much as I like to cuddle you, I really don’t want another argument with Hank,” she says exasperated, but fondly.

Tony snorts, rolling his eyes. It’s mean one and Jan notices it too, slapping a hand over his forearms. “Play nice Tony.”

“Fine, whatever,” Tony says dismissively with a wave of his hand. “Just for you.”

“Thank you,” she beams at him. “I have to go save him, he’s about to implode.”

They watch her march to the opposite end of the saloon, people stepping back to make her way. Tony watches her with a small smile, a champagne glass in his hands Steve didn’t even realise he had. When she disappears into the crowd, Tony grabs his elbow gently, his body pressing into his from behind and Steve lets him haul from one person to another without question. He would feel like a pretty doll being shown around if it wasn’t for the way Tony looked at him.

It’s an fascinating thing to watch, Tony interacting with people because he has to. He either has a natural talent at evading questions, bending them into something to meet his tastes or he has been dealing with this far too long that it has become a part of his skin, his persona that he never gives away anything important but leaves everyone satisfied with their conversations. He subtly pulls Steve into conversation with people who are actually interested in art and hides behind his huge body and a glass of alcohol. Steve has a constant blush on his skin, sometimes stammering because while Tony leaves the chatting to him, he takes over the touching. His hands are all over Steve, subtle but sure, and occasionally hiding his face into his body and Steve can’t help but lean into it every time he does it. He feels people’s eyes on them rather than seeing it, and everyone they talk looks at them with varying degrees of fascination to disgust.

He doesn’t know what causes the disgust, them being to men or if they’re reaction to them personally somehow.

Everything goes so smoothly, too smoothly. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

A man steps between them as Tony hands him a champagne, half of it spilling on Steve’s shirt.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the man apologises instantly, beautiful blue eyes wide and genuine. Steve smiles at him reflexively, waving his apologies away but he stops in his tracks when he sees the barely contained snarl on Tony’s face. “Mr. Foster,” he greets out and the man turns to him with a mildly surprised expression on his face like he didn’t expect him to be there. Now that Steve knows who he is, he can see the pleased glint in the man’s eyes.

“Tony, it’s a pleasure to see you,” he says politely, offering a hand. Tony’s jaw ticks but he takes it. The man holds it between his two hands and Tony visibly tenses, jerking his hand back like it burned. Mr. Foster’s face doesn’t betray anything but Steve’s sharp gaze can see his breathing accelerate. “Didn’t mean to ruin your friend’s costume,” he mutters sweetly, looking around until he waves a waiter over. “Help this gentleman, I spilled a drink on him.”

Before he knows it, he is being ushered out by two men. They take him to a small room, closing the door behind them and that’s when he realises how attractive these two are. Both are brunette, both with full lips and thick eyelashes. Pretty and seductive in the way they held themselves. Any other day he’d be down to sleep with them but he just spares them a disgusted glance and shoves them away to leave the room. In a moment of fury, he breaks the door handle and closes it behind him before they can react. He breaks the outer handle for good measure and drops it onto the floor. Let them wait it out until someone has time to break them out. He hopes their bladders give up on them.

He sees Tony storming over to him and he closes the distance between them in quick strides. Tony grabs him by his collars and looks into his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods quickly, hands dangling next to him like a pack of potatoes. He points to the door with his thumb, “Locked those two guys in.”

Tony stares at him for a second then his face splits into a grin. “That’s my man.”

Steve grins back at him, probably looking like an idiot but he doesn’t care. Tony’s hands leave his collars and Steve’s fingers itch to grab them and put it on his face instead. Of course, he doesn’t and they just stand there. At some point, Tony’s smile turns small but warm and he tilts his head. “Let’s get out of here. Maybe I should say no more often to Pepper.”

Steve hums noncommittally, not knowing what to say. Is there a procedure he can follow when a man he crushes on talks about his ex?

Tony pours himself another drink on the way back to Steve’s home. Tony insisted they drop off Steve first, despite Steve saying repeatedly that they’re closer to the tower. Steve’s eyes catch the amber liquid a few times, because he’s been watching Tony the whole night and this must be his eighth or ninth drink. He doesn’t know how much pure alcohol it is, but he’s sure it should’ve affected Tony at this point but he still looks completely sober. No slurring, no unbalanced movements.

He hates not knowing if it’s Tony’s high tolerance or superb acting.  
“Let’s catch up,” Tony breaks the silence at some point. They’ve been inside the car for more than ten minutes and the road is packed because of some accident.  
“That suggests we talked in the first place,” Steve says, but he smiles to show he’s just joking.  
“Touché, Rogers. I’m going to allow you to be sassy because it’s cute. Now tell me, what do you really want to do?”  
“It’s all in my resume,” Steve laughs but it sounds hollow to even his own ears.  
“Do you know how often people lie in their job applications?” Tony says as he tosses the glass back before he pours another one. Steve feels panic rise in his chest, hyperventilating just like he was a kid and hopes Tony will forget this line of thought with the next glass, then he hates himself for thinking that because obviously Tony has some serious issues with alcohol, and it’s so gross to want to take advantage of that.

Tony sees his face as the takes the first sip and immediately puts a reassuring hand on his arm. “I was just joking. I don’t care what you lied about in your resume and you don’t have to tell me,” he says soothingly.

Steve just wants to stab himself in the eye.

“Sorry,” he manages to say. Tony smiles reassuringly, “No need to be sorry. Take the morning off tomorrow okay? I kept you up all night, just come over in the afternoon.”

“It’s alright, I don’t sleep all that much anyway.”

Tony shakes his head, like he’s dealing with a tenacious child. But at least he’s still smiling gently. “Don’t come before two, Rogers.”

He sighs but nods. Because no matter how much he wants to see Tony, he’ll need the rest after the emotional clusterfuck that was today.

It hits him in the stairs, why Tony was insistent that he didn’t come. He’s having someone over.

**

He knows Bucky is already inside his apartment, so he rings the bell. He waits for two minutes until Bucky sighs noisily and opens the door. “Did you forget the keys again?” he grumbles but his eyes search his face anxiously for a second.

“No,” he says simply, offering no further explanation. He doesn’t object when Bucky follows him back to his bedroom either, they’re way past shyness over nudity. He leans down to rub Lucifer’s head when he walks between his legs, too tired to pick him up.

He undresses with military efficiency, throwing the shirt into the laundry basket. He brushes his teeth in twenty seconds, not bothering with the floss.

Bucky watches him with intense eyes all through that, taking in the tense shoulders and the frown. “How did it go?” he asks softly at last and Steve is so grateful that he’s not trying to lecture him, that he’s just here to be with him.

“It was great,” he mumbles. “Well, not the event actually,” he retaliates.

“So it was Stark who was great,” Bucky says bluntly but not unkindly.

He releases a shaky breath. “He’s perfect.”

Bucky chuckles. “I’m pretty sure he’s not perfect buddy. A good man, yes. But not perfect.”

“Well,” he shrugs, putting on his pajamas. He throws himself on the bed, making Lucifer jump off the bed with an annoyed meow and lies on his back stiffly. Bucky waits for a few moments before he pokes him with a metal finger between his ribs. He makes a face at his best friend but turns on his side so they can face each other.

“He’s having someone over,” he admits quietly.

“Ouch.” He even sounds like he means it.

“Yeah.”

They stay silent for some time and Steve is so damn tired, deep in his bones. It’s his body’s way of tyring to block everything out, he knows but his mind is working faster than ever and the sleep refuses to come to him.

“Give me something to wear man. I’m staying tonight.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Do you want me to wash your feet too?”

“Were you thinking not to?” he says but gets up with a grunt to borrow something. He’s probably making a mess of his closet but at that moment he couldn’t care less.

“You really need to get some new clothes,” he complains as he tugs the sweatpants up.

“Then go buy me some. You have your salary.”

“Why would I use my money when I can use yours?” he says, propping himself against the headboard. Lucifer jumps on his lap a second later and Bucky silently coos at him. “Hey handsome,” he whispers as he rubs the back of his ears. Lucifer starts purring contently and he smiles, focusing on his cat’s peacefulness to get some of his own.

“You can call Sam if you want,” he murmurs, eyes dropping with sleep.

“No can do. You only get to have me tonight.”

Steve smiles shyly and ducks his face into his shoulder. He loves Sam, neither of them would be here if it wasn’t for him but sometimes he misses spending some alone time with his best friend. He crawl closer to him and lays his head on his thigh. Bucky sighs like he is enduring some kind of torture. “What am I, designated hair petter?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles but it lacks heat. “Sam doesn’t even have hair.”

Bucky laughs quietly, metal fingers stroking his hair gently, massaging his scalp and before he knows, he’s dead to the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!


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